


Pixilated II: Drunk on Your Kisses

by IreneADonovan



Series: Pixel [3]
Category: X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies), X-Men (Movieverse), X-Men First Class (2011)
Genre: Anal Sex, Canon Disabled Character, Charles Xavier has a Ph.D in Adorable, Charles in a Wheelchair, Erik is a Sweetheart, M/M, Nipple Play, PWP, Post-XMFC
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-04
Updated: 2017-06-04
Packaged: 2018-11-08 17:31:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11086500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IreneADonovan/pseuds/IreneADonovan
Summary: Charles and Erik finally get to have sex in this 'verse...





	Pixilated II: Drunk on Your Kisses

**Author's Note:**

> Comments always appreciated...

That first night, Charles and Erik (but especially Charles) both proved to be too drunk for more than a sloppier version of the morning's makeout session.

The next night, however, they were sober, clear-headed, and nervous as hell. Their couplings before Cuba had been desperate stolen moments during a dangerous pursuit. Frantic, almost violent, sex in cheap motel rooms, empty offices at the CIA, and in forgotten corners of the mansion. They'd gotten off in the danger, both of discovery and of their mission to stop Shaw, and there had never been anything slow or gentle about their lovemaking, no need to learn each other, to be tender, to explore.

So they were coming together now almost as strangers, not knowing the intimate details of pleasuring each other, and with one of them still learning his radically altered body.

Charles had no idea what to expect, what would work and what wouldn't, didn't know if Erik could really deal with the harsh realities of Charles' physical condition. Despite Erik's promises of acceptance and devotion, Charles knew Erik still didn't truly grasp the intricacies of Charles' new existence. He just hoped Erik didn't cut and run for good once he understood. The first time Erik had left had nearly killed Charles. He didn't think he could survive a repeat performance.

Erik had made dinner, as he usually did. While just about everyone else could assemble an edible meal of some sort, Erik was the only one of them that could truly cook well. Tonight he'd made a beef-and-vegetable stew that had been excellent, though Charles had been too nervous to eat much.

Erik, sensing Charles' discomfiture, had placed his hand atop Charles', squeezed gently, then glared at the rest of the table, daring them to make an issue of it. Of course no one did, not even Raven.

Everyone hurried through the rest of their dinners and then scattered, leaving Charles and Erik blissfully alone. “Really,” Charles chided teasingly, “you didn't have to scare them off.”

“They made it so easy,” Erik protested, unrepentant. “Besides, it worked. We're alone now.” He squeezed Charles' hand again. “So chess? Or straight to bed?”

Charles considered. Chess meant scotch, and a drink or two would ease his nerves a bit, but the delay would probably tense him up even more. Plus he was already unsettled enough that he'd never be able to concentrate on the game. “Bedroom,” he decided.

Erik led the way, with Charles a couple of feet behind him. Erik paused a few feet inside the doorway to Charles' bedroom and swore softly, though without much heat.

“What's wrong?” Charles asked.

Erik stepped aside so Charles could see.

The fur-covered turtleneck from the morning before lay in a discarded heap atop Charles' dresser. And a soundly-asleep kitten lay curled in a ball atop the shirt.

Charles couldn't help but laugh, and after a few moments, Erik joined him, chuckling low in his throat. “It seems that shirt is a lost cause,” Erik said.

“Not a lost cause,” Charles countered. “Pixel has herself a new bed.”

Erik turned toward Charles, looking almost hesitant, then closed the gap between them. He buried his hands in Charles' hair and tilted Charles' face up, pressed their lips together in a soft, almost chaste kiss.

Charles' hands went to Erik's waist, bracing himself as he leaned up into the kiss, deepening it, matching tenderness with hunger.

Erik did taste good, Charles thought as Erik's lips parted to allow Charles' tongue to slip through. Their kissing became frantic, almost desperate, as they clung to each other, neither wanting to part from the safe harbor that was the other's embrace.

When they did finally break the kiss, they continued to hold each other until Erik finally pulled away and straightened with a wince. “My body is reminding me I'm not in my twenties anymore.”

Charles said nothing.

“Don't gloat,” Erik growled, pretending to be cross. “You're not that far from thirty.”

Erik stretched, slow and languid like a cat, and Charles' retort died on his lips. “You”re wearing far too many clothes,” he said once his voice would work again.

Erik chuckled. “As are you.” He pulled the hem of his polo out of the waistband of his jeans then stripped the shirt off over his head in one smooth motion. “Better?”

“It's a start.” In truth, it was spectacular. Erik's chest could inspire love sonnets, not that Charles was about to start writing them.

“Your turn,” Erik said.

Charles unbuttoned his shirt cuffs, then slowly undid the buttons of his shirt, parting the fabric a little more with each one.

Erik had gone completely still, mouth parted ever so slightly.

Charles pulled his shirttails from his pants and slid the garment off, waiting nervously, watching Erik's reaction. He knew he'd put new layers of muscle on his chest and shoulders in the past months, but his body was scarcely the sculpted perfection of Erik's.

But Erik didn't seem to care. He watched Charles hungrily as he used his powers to unsnap and unzip his jeans. He toed off his shoes, then slid jeans and boxers down his long legs and stepped out of them.

Dear g-d, the man truly was perfection. His legs were long, lean, and muscular, and his cock -- his cock was huge.

Charles' sense of inadequacy grew exponentially.

Erik gestured at the bed. “Shall we?”

Charles nodded.

Erik folded the covers back, circled to the far side of the bed, and stretched out on his side, looking like an underwear model sans underwear.

Charles sat frozen, unable to move or to tear his gaze away from the vision before him. 

Erik locked eyes with him, cleared his throat, looked pointedly at Charles' side of the bed.

Oh, right.

Charles wheeled close to the bed and transferred onto it. He removed his shoes and socks, then he began the laborious process of cajoling his pants and boxers down over his hips, a process that involved a lot of pushing and tugging and shifting and no small amount of cursing to get them down far enough that he could then push them down to his ankles and slide them off over his feet.

He studied his legs with a critical eye. They were pale and a little thin, but they still looked okay, he thought. He lifted them, one at a time, up onto the mattress, then he settled on his side facing Erik. “Where were we?”

Erik caressed his cheek. “Right about here.” He leaned forward and pressed his lips to Charles'.

Charles' lips parted, drew Erik's tongue into his mouth. He tasted of the herbs from the stew and of the beer he'd had with it and of the earthiness that was himself. It was a heady, intoxicating mix.

Erik placed his hand on Charles' side, near the bottom of his ribcage, little more than a handswidth above the no-man's-land where sensation faded into nothingness. “Show me--” Erik's voice broke, and he looked helplessly at Charles.

Charles sucked in a breath, then began, trying to sound technical to keep his own emotions at bay. “I have full feeling down to about here,” he traced a line just above the crest of his hip, “then it's patchy, mostly just vague pressure, down to about here. He drew a line at mid-thigh. “Below that, nothing.” He saw the guilt shadow Erik's grey-blue eyes and shook his head. “None of that, Erik. I've forgiven you. You need to forgive yourself.”

Erik sighed. “I'm trying.”

Charles cupped his cheek. “That's all I'll ask.” He traced Erik's lips with his thumb. “I don't know how this is going to work, but I think we'll find a way.” He leaned forward and brushed a kiss across Erik's mouth.

Erik's hand slid down to wrap around Charles' cock. “Can you feel this?”

“Only a little,” Charles admitted. “I feel something, but it's vague, distant.”

“So should I not--?”

“I don't know. Let's try it and see what happens.”

“All right.” Erik began stroking Charles' cock vigorously.

But after a few minutes Charles was forced to admit that this just wasn't working. He could feel Erik's hand after a fashion, but his body wasn't responding with any sense of arousal. “Stop,” he said, laying his hand on Erik's wrist.

Erik's hand stilled, and he stared at Charles, grey-blue eyes stricken.

“It's okay, Erik,” Charles said more calmly than he actually felt. “We both knew not everything we tried would work. Just try something else.”

Erik's hand trailed upward, gliding over Charles' belly.

Charles gasped softly as the touch ignited the desire he'd been seeking.

Erik froze.

“Don't stop,” Charles said.

Erik smiled softly then bent and kissed Charles' navel. Charles shuddered, and thus encouraged, Erik kissed and licked his way up to the center of Charles' chest then turned his head and sucked Charles' left nipple into his mouth.

Pleasure sang along Charles' nerves, the intensity startling him. He'd had a couple of girlfriends who'd liked to play with his nipples, and he'd never had reason to complain, but he'd certainly never reacted like this.

Erik sucked, nibbled, nipped, repeated again and again while his fingers closed on Charles' other nipple, pinching and kneading it in counterpoint.

Charles moaned low in his throat, arched into Erik's touch, gripped handsful of the sheets. The sensations were different than what he had known before but no less intense, and he knew his touch-starved body was nearing orgasm.

Erik blew on Charles' nipple, the puff of air chill on his saliva-dampened skin.

Charles shivered, shuddered, rode the peaking wave of sensation up and up and up until he hovered on the brink of the precipice, hanging suspended until Erik nipped him hard and he tumbled forward and fell, electric pulses of energy ripping through his body, unmaking and remaking him.

He drifted in a sated haze as Erik asked, “Was it good for you?” his voice full of warmth and dry humor.

Charles opened his eyes -- he didn't even remember closing them -- and spoke softly, still lost in a post-coital bliss. “Fucking wonderful.”

Erik kissed him, slow and deep, and improbably, he felt his body start to rouse again. Apparently coming without ejaculation required little to no recovery time. Good to know.

Charles smiled up at Erik. “What about you, love? You'll let me take care of you?”

Erik smiled. “Whatvare you offering? Hand job? Blow job?”

“I was thinking more along the lines of you in me,” Charles answered.

Erik's pale eyes went wide. “You're sure.”

“I want to try. The worst that will happen is I won't feel it. But you should be able to enjoy it regardless.”

“I don't want to enjoy it if you don't.”

“Noble but hardly sensible. You've already taken care of me. Let me take care of you.”

“All right then.” Erik glanced at the nightstand. “Lube still in the drawer?”

“Yes.”

Erik used his powers on the metal drawer pull then floated the metal tube out. “What's the best way to do this?”

“Damned if I know.”

“I'd love to watch your face.”

“You'll have to hold my legs up,” Charles warned, though he wanted very much like to see Erik himself.

In response, Erik used his power to pull two quarters from his pants, turned them into slender bands that encircled Charles' ankles, then used them to suspend Charles' legs in midair. “Next problem?”

“I don't think there is one.”

“Good.” Erik slicked up his hand with lube then pressed the tip of his index finger against Charles' hole.

Charles could feel the pressure, barely.

Erik pressed a little harder then eased his fingertip inside.

Charles felt it, more than he'd expected. It wasn't much more than pressure, but it was more. Instinct told him to push himself further onto Erik's finger, but his lower body wouldn't respond, couldn't respond. He gave a low growl of frustration.

“Something wrong?”

“More. Now.”

Erik pushed his finger deeper. “So you can feel this.”

“Not well,” Charles conceded, “but yes.” Then as Erik pushed his finger in to the knuckle, something amazing happened. A jolt of sensation, maybe not the same as anything he'd known before, but intense and real, if fleeting. “Whatever you did, do it again. I felt that. Really felt that.”

Erik drove deep and wiggled his finger.

Charles gasped. “Oh, that's marvellous. 

“I'm going to try another finger,” Erik said. He withdrew his first finger, returned it a moment later along with his second finger.

Again, Charles didn't really feel it until Erik”s fingers were buried deep as they could go in his ass. And then he got shivery jolts of sensation that were unlike anything he'd ever experienced before taking a bullet to the spine. It wasn't better or worse, just different. And really, really good.

Erik scissored his fingers, coaxing the tight muscles to loosen as the shivery sensations built on each other. And then, after Erik had worked in his other two fingers and on a particularly deep dive, Erik found Charles' prostate.

Charles nearly blacked out. He groaned low in his throat, knew his eyes were bugging out.

“That good?” Erik teased, and then he dove deep again.

Charles' spine arched and he tossed his head from side to side, almost mindless with pleasure.

“Ready for the real thing?” Erik asked as he tattooed Charles' prostate with a trio of quick jabs.

Charles was just coherent enough to nod.

Erik greased up his cock with quick efficiency, lined himself up with Charles' hole, and pushed in with one smooth stroke.

Charles felt it only dimly until Erik was nearly all the way in, and then he felt those little shivery bolts of electricity.

“Am I good to move?”

Charles nodded again, speech still beyond him.

Erik commenced a slow but steady pace that gave Charles one of those jolts every time he drove in.

“Faster,” Charles begged, finding his voice.

Erik gradually increased the tempo, driving even deeper as his rhythm sped up, and it didn't take him long to find Charles' prostate again.

Charles gave a strangled cry.

Erik grinned, showing all his teeth, and drove in hard, then harder again.

Charles threw his head back and came with a jubilant shout.

Erik continued to drive into him, seeking his own orgasm.

Charles drifted on the waves of sensation, groaning low in his throat, and he scarcely even heard Pixel's soft, suddenly anxious meows.

Then Pixel let out a much sharper cry.

A moment later, Erik gave an indignant yelp then came with abandon.

Charles forced his eyes to focus, then he burst into laughter.

Pixel was clinging to Erik's ass, claws extended.

“It's not funny,” Erik growled.

“Yes, darling, it is,” Charles said, still laughing.

Pixel meowed again, sounding satisfied she'd made her point, then she zoomed off.

Erik rubbed his ass. “What got into her?”

“I think she thought you were hurting me.”

Erik smiled, reflective and rueful. “Never again, Charles. Never again.”

**Author's Note:**

> What Pixel does at the end is based on something that happened to a friend's boyfriend. The key difference was the cat was a full-grown male in his prime, not an undersized kitten.


End file.
